Making Good
by Minquette
Summary: 'You ever gonna make good on all this flirting' James wasn't planning to, but that sounded like an invitation. Now he just had to figure out how exactly to make good on the flirting and not lose his heart on the way. FShep/Vega.
1. Chapter 1

_You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?_

The sentence chased itself around James's head as Cortez beat a hasty retreat from the Cerberus lab on Sanctum. It'd been three days since Shepard taunted him with those words. Nothing got her teasing voice and that huff of laughter out of his head. Not getting drunk, not playing cards (and losing), not even a firefight with Cerberus freaks when his back itched like crazy from the still-healing N7 tattoo.

He hadn't been planning on making good on his flirting, no. A quick jerk off whenever Shepard crept into his dreams was as close he thought he'd ever get. Most of the time she responded to him with a raised eyebrow or she crossed her arms or she ignored him completely. Whenever she did flirt back, the main aim seemed to be to embarrass him. That didn't inspire a guy to seriously chase someone. She had meant to embarrass him that day, of course. He'd leave it at that too, another win for Shepard in the Let's Make James Blush Olympics... if he hadn't seen disappointment flit across her face as she turned to saunter off.

Shepard sat across from him now, head resting against the back of the seat and eyes closed. A small frown marred her brow, but she'd been frowning since the day Anderson hauled him off Omega to guard her. His gaze swept over Shepard's cheekbones to her sharp jawline, the smattering of freckles across pale cheeks and the curve of her full lips. He really shouldn't be staring at her lips, but if he wasn't going to stare at them then he'd be raking his gaze down the rest of her and that seemed like an even worse idea. He shouldn't be staring at all, not with Cortez and Garrus in the pilot and co-pilot seats two metres away.

The shuttle jerked hard enough to throw James into his harness. At least it broke his ogling. Shepard doubled over, hand clamped over her mouth. Her hair hid her face, red locks clumped together by sweat from the hard fight, but her body heaved with each breath.

'Hey, you okay?' asked James, unclipping his harness. A press of a button on his omnitool and his mag boots locked onto the corrugated metal floor. He stood, one gauntleted hand braced against the ceiling. The magnetisation made his gait awkward as he took the three steps that separated him from Shepard.

He rested a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back into her seat.

She knocked his hand away and choked out, 'I'm fine.'

Her lifted arm revealed a wet slick across her side that he hadn't noticed when they were trying not to get downed by turrets. James let himself be momentarily rebuffed, if only because the shuttle pitched again and he didn't want to headbutt her. She made another retching noise and he leaned further away, just in case.

'I know armour is easy to hose down, but I don't want to sit in your puke until we dock.'

She shot him an irritated glare from under too-long bangs. 'Sit down, then.'

He didn't.

The shuttle finally settled, and he deactivated his mag boots and dropped to his knees. Classic Shepard. If someone else was injured she'd force them to let her fix them, but the great Commander Shepard was fine, even when she had a hole in her waist. He slid open the compartment under the seat next to her to grab the medkit box.

'Let me dress that before you bleed out, Commander.' He hoped the rank would smack some sense into her. Seemed like a stupid way to die—Shepard bleeding out on her own shuttle, less than a metre away from a medkit and with at least two people onboard capable of field dressing human wounds.

She blinked at him, pupils so dilated there was only a thin ring of green around them, and then nodded.

'Safe to unbuckle, Cortez?' she asked, a silent rebuke at James for not asking before unbuckling himself earlier.

He rolled his eyes as he rifled through the medkit.

'Clear, Commander. Pick up with the _Normandy_ in twenty.'

Seemingly satisfied, Shepard unbuckled herself. She hissed as she lifted her arm so he could work. The arm drooped and her breathing went ragged. So stubborn. James placed her hand on his shoulder to take the pressure off her torn muscles.

'Sentinel took out my systems for a second,' she said.

'You should have said something earlier.'

He cut an uneven circle out of the weave and pulled it away from the wound. She puffed out a loud breath, and he murmured an apology.

'It's fine. The anaesthetic's just wearing off,' she said, voice rough and soft, just for him. Intimate. He dragged his mind away from wandering into fantasies he kept for when he was alone.

'Good thing it wasn't a turret round that found you.' He swept his fingers along her back, looking for an exit wound. 'The round's still inside you. Chakwas can dig it out.'

Shepard made a face like she'd rather eat varren shit than have to go to the med bay. Not that she had a choice. She wasn't going to dig it out herself in her quarters… actually, he could believe she'd do that to avoid going to the med bay. After what Cerberus did to her, he could understand.

James set to dressing the wound. Even though he was trying to be efficient, underneath the smell of spent rounds that followed them after every fight, Alliance-issue soap lingered at the edge of his senses. It shouldn't have stood out—he used the same soap—but on her it did. Her breath washed over the back of his neck as she watched him work, sending sparks down his spine.

Medigel smeared and numbing agent injected, James carefully wiped the blood from the site before sticking a bandage across the wound. She didn't make another sound, but her muscles jumped under his fingers and he apologised again.

'Any other injuries I need to patch up?' he asked, keeping his voice impersonal.

Mischief threaded through her voice, louder now that the aesthetic was in her system. 'What, so you can get off on feeling me up some more?'

He jerked his hands away from her. She huffed that maddening little laugh again that scrambled his brain and shot straight to his groin. Thank fuck for armour.

Cortez chuckled. 'Congratulations, Commander. You managed to shut him up.'

James shot a glare at his friend's back. 'I'm being professional.'

'That's new,' said Garrus and James flipped him off even though the turian couldn't see it.

He snapped shut the medkit and put it back in its compartment before plopping onto his seat again. Shepard had returned to resting her head back against the seat with her eyes closed, although this time the line between her brows had smoothed a bit. As usual, his gaze trailed over her face and then down her pale neck before her skin was swallowed by the black weave that disappeared into her chest plate. A cough pulled his attention away. Cortez was looking at him over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. The pilot glanced pointedly between Shepard and James.

Damn. Caught.

James waved a dismissive hand at him and followed Shepard's lead, closing his eyes.

Ten minutes later and they were docking with the _Normandy_. Shepard was on her feet and by the shuttle door before they'd even entered the hangar bay. If it weren't for the white bandage, stark against her black and gunmetal-grey armour, she'd look like she'd come back unscathed.

Once the shuttle door opened, she jumped out and stumbled. If anyone else saw it, they didn't say anything, and James kept his mouth shut for once. He watched her stalk off, gaze skimming the cinch of her waist and flare of her hips. She dropped her guns on his weapons bench and entered the already-open elevator, like EDI had been anticipating her. He tore his focus away from Shepard's ass when she turned. She didn't wait for anyone, but she did watch him as the doors slid closed. Heat spread across his chest at that inscrutable, weighted look.

After the doors finally closed, he shook off the feeling of having been measured and strode to his work station. At least he only had to clean his and Shepard's guns. Garrus wouldn't let anyone touch his stuff, let alone disassemble it to clean.

'It's a bad idea, and you know it,' said Cortez, coming to stand next to James so he wouldn't have to speak loud enough for anyone else to hear.

James unclipped his weapons and put them on the workbench next to Shepard's. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Cortez made a sceptical sound at the back of his throat and wandered off to do his usual post-mission checks on the shuttle.

James dismantled his Vindicator with practised movements. Pouring all his focus into the meticulous process of getting it spotless for the next mission would at least keep his mind off how much his neck still tingled from Shepard's breath.


	2. Chapter 2

The _Normandy_ was docked at the Citadel again, which meant he was back at Purgatory with the rest of the grunts, which also meant he was back to drinking to help take his mind off his CO. Until she walked in, anyway. Shepard's gaze found him almost instantly. _Don't read into it, pendejo_. He was at his usual spot at the end of the lower-floor bar. It wasn't exactly hard to find him.

'Hey, Commander,' one of his drinking buddies bellowed over the music, waving at her. 'Come have a drink with us.'

She smiled and shook her head, pointing to a corner booth in the shadows. James squinted against the strobe lights. It was that potty-mouth _loca_ from Grissom Academy. Jack had an army of empty glasses and bottles on her table but she was still upright and lounging against the back of the couch, reading off her omnitool.

'Next time, but you're buying,' another marine yelled and Shepard laughed and nodded.

He watched her plop down next to Jack, who offered her one of the drinks on the table. Guess not all of them were empty.

James turned his back on them. He was not going to spend his entire night watching Shepard from a distance like some pining fanboy. He let himself get caught up in the easy conversation of Alliance soldiers trying to forget there was a war going on. When he did turn back, it was only to follow people to the dance floor on the upper level. He locked eyes with Shepard once again. She sprawled across her booth, her arm resting on the back of the booth seat and a drink in her hand. Whatever that amber liquid was, it sloshed around the glass as she swirled it, contemplative look still on him. Jack said something that James couldn't lipread in the gloom. Shepard laughed and shook her head, breaking their stare.

He hurried up the stairs after his friends. The sweet buzz of tequila wanted him to go sit next to Shepard and see what alcohol she tasted of. Another shot or two and he would've done it. Perhaps that was enough drinking, at least until she was gone.

He closed his eyes and focused on the pumping music instead, trying to get the melody to crowd out the idea of making out with his CO. A hand caught his hip. For a wild second he thought he'd summoned Shepard there with his brain, but when he focused on who exactly was in front of him it was an asari who was wearing… not much of anything, really. He grinned at her as she pressed closer. Perhaps this was what he needed—a pretty face and nice tits to look down at. Maybe he was so hard up for Shepard because he just needed a good lay. It'd been a while since he'd gone home with someone.

The plan was right on track when, a few songs later, the asari asked with an unsubtle flick of warm fingers under his shirt if he wanted to go somewhere else. He opened his mouth to accept when a confused-looking Shepard caught his eye. She stood on the edge of the dance floor, head cocked to the side as she contemplated the dancers on the moving podiums. She'd partially unzipped the BDUs she perpetually wore when she wasn't in armour. His gaze dipped into the cleavage that was so rarely on display. Not as impressive as the asari's, but it stole his attention anyway. Guess it wasn't that he needed to fuck someone, anyone; he was an addict and Shepard was his drug of choice.

'My place?' the asari asked.

'Can't, hermosa,' he said with an apologetic smile.

The asari followed his gaze. 'You're unavailable?'

 _You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?_

'You could say that,' he replied.

The asari sighed and wandered off to try her luck with someone else.

He slid between the dancers until he stood next to Shepard, who was now swaying slightly but still not quite to the beat.

Liquid courage made him ask, 'Wanna dance?'

She didn't start like she hadn't realised he wasn't there. She just hadn't acknowledged him yet. She faced him then, head still cocked to the side. 'I don't think you can spar here.'

He snorted. 'Not that kind of dance.'

'Oh. I can't dance.'

'Thirty-something years and nobody taught you how to dance?'

She waved her hand, and it followed the rhythm better than her hips did. 'We didn't exactly have a dance teacher on the colony growing up.'

'Luckily for you, my abuela taught dance classes. And I'm damn good at dancing too.'

'Is there anything you don't think you're good at?' asked Shepard with a roll of her eyes.

'Modesty.'

Shepard shook her head but laughed anyway. 'Fine, twinkle-toes, do the impossible. Teach me how to dance.'

'Come to the corner,' he said and shouldered his way through the crowd to a relatively empty spot where a large pillar met the balcony overlooking the lower floor of the club.

Shepard planted herself in front of him, a solider at parade rest, only her pupils were dilated and she had a dopey half-smile on her face that he recognised from drunken poker nights on the _Normandy_. Unlike Jack, Shepard didn't drink much. Even with that famous biotic metabolism, it didn't take a lot to get her drunk. It took a lot to keep her drunk though, which is why she usually spared the alcohol for the rest of the crew. Now that's a real hero.

'When the music is upbeat like this, do what you want. Jump around, wave your arms, twirl,' he said, doing a less energetic version of his usual fist-pumping dance.

Shepard hopped from foot to foot, waving her arms in the air. She looked more like she was running over hot coals or swinging from branch to branch like a monkey, only a monkey might have actually moved to the beat. He lost it when she twirled, still waving her arms and hopping around.

'Are you tone deaf?' he asked through wheezing breaths.

'You're such a colossal ass,' she said, punching him in the shoulder hard enough that he stumbled against the balcony railing.

She turned to leave but he caught her wrist, spinning her back around and giving her his best apologetic smile coupled with earnest, puppy-dog eyes. He'd perfected them on many a girlfriend in the past.

'Woah, come on now, Shepard. I'm sorry. We'll try something with less… movement,' he said, letting go of her. Shepard scowled at him but didn't turn to leave again. She did, however, rub her wrist as if he'd stung her. 'Just move slow, but don't do that weird shuffle you were doing earlier.'

'I don't do—'

'You do.'

She shut her mouth and crossed her arms over her chest but James could practically see her thinking 'Yeah, I do a weird shuffle'.

'Leave your arms by your side, feet shoulder-width apart, and slowly move your hips from side to side,' he said, demonstrating. When she began to move he tried to cover his snicker with a cough. 'Less like a piston and more like trees in the wind.'

She narrowed her eyes, looking a little less dazed now that she was offended. 'I'm trying.'

The song changed from frenetic to a pulsing, dark rhythm that made time seem to slow down as the dancers matched the song. Her hips barely slowed, and definitely not enough to match any beat you could find within the song. He placed his hands on her hips, her warmth bleeding through the fabric into his palms, and pulled her closer. She made a sound of surprised protest. Her fingers curled around his wrists, ready to rip his hands away.

'Stop,' he said in her ear and, to his surprise, she froze.

Her hands didn't disappear, but it now felt less like she was preparing to tear his arms from the rest of his body.

'Dancing is no different from an exhibition spar,' he said, lips grazing the shell of her ear. He felt rather than heard her breath hitch. 'One movement leads to the next. Don't counter me. Complement me.'

James's hands swayed her hips to the beat properly. Her face was downturned, focused on her hips, and he had a face full of her hair. It was not Alliance-issued shampoo; it was strawberries and _dios mio_ it made him want to spin her around and crush her against him, hardening cock nestled against that ass he'd memorised.

Even though she was swaying in time with him now, her hands limply rested on his forearms and she was concentrating way too hard on her feet.

'Close your eyes. You're too self-conscious,' he said, turning them so he had his back to the crowd of dancers while she mostly hidden between him and a pillar. 'No one's watching you. Just ride out the music.'

She glanced up at him from under dark eyelashes. In those eyes, pupils dilated so they looked completely black, uncertainty lurked. He'd never seen that look on her face before. He kind of liked that there was something he could teach her. Maybe he could find out if there was a badge or something for teaching an N7 how to dance.

James winked, slipping easily back into flirtatiousness. 'Trust me, Lola.'

Shepard licked her lips, nervous, and closed her eyes. His gaze was transfixed on the new shine to her parted lips. They looked soft. If he kissed her, would she throw him off the balcony?

Her hands crept up his biceps, whether involuntary or not, and he shifted closer so there was barely any air between their bodies. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he glanced down at them, expecting her to move away, but she didn't. She didn't open her eyes either. She was doing as he bade: getting lost in the music.

James's heart pounded in his chest so loudly it was a wonder she couldn't hear it. He was engulfed in strawberries and he'd never been more turned on by strawberries in his life. If she got any closer she'd feel exactly how turned on he was.

Shepard's omnitool beeped and lit up. She pulled away and his hands dropped from her hips. Someone, somewhere, must hate him. Gone was half-drunk Shepard who almost learnt how to dance and instead was Commander Shepard as she skimmed the message.

'I have to go,' she said and closed the message.

He smiled down at her and hoped that the darkness and intermittent strobe lights hid his erection. 'Thanks for the dance, Lola.'

For a second he got back the Shepard who let him pull her close and dance. She smiled in return and brushed by him, taking her strawberry scent with her.

He forced himself not to watch her go. Instead, he headed to the crowded bar to get a much-needed drink now that she was gone. Jack was already at the bar and he squeezed into a space next to her. Most people gave her a bit of space. She had a drink in each hand and offered him one, since he wasn't having any luck catching the attention of a bartender.

'You two boning or what?' she asked.

'No. She's my CO,' he said, taking the offered drink with a nod of thanks.

Jack burst out laughing. 'You're a dumbass.'

'What? Why?'

He took a sip of the drink. Whiskey, straight. Cheap whiskey. It burned going down in a different way than tequila did. Either way it chased away the lingering strawberries, so he took another sip.

'You don't tease the Butcher of Torfan and then don't put out,' she said.

He coughed as some whiskey went down the wrong pipe. Jack knocked back the rest of her drink before he'd recovered and waded into the crowd of dancers, leaving him glaring at her tattooed head.


	3. Chapter 3

When James returned to the _Normandy_ a few hours later, drunker than when he'd been dancing with Shepard ( _dios mio_ he still couldn't believe that happened), it was to see her in the CIC amongst the skeleton crew of the graveyard shift. She didn't look happy either. Tipsy Shepard was definitely gone, her BDUs hiding that glorious cleavage once again. His hands itched at the memory her warm hips against his hands and he could almost smell the strawberry of her hair again. Heat pooled in his belly and if he didn't stop his wandering mind then that heat would creep lower and he'd have to make an awkward, hasty retreat. Maybe he could silently back out before she noticed him.

A private came out of the cockpit and snapped to attention when she saw James, her boots ringing on the steel floor. Shepard looked up, and James gave her a much lazier salute than the private gave him. Shepard's expression didn't change. Was he in trouble?

She jerked her head to the elevator and went to summon it. He scrolled through possible reasons he might be in trouble as he followed her into the elevator. He didn't think he was late for duty. He was pretty sure he'd cleaned the guns properly before he left for Purgatory. She didn't seem mad about dancing earlier, but he supposed sobriety could've changed her mind.

They descended to the hangar deck in silence. Shepard stared at the floor, her arms crossed and a foot tapping a restless beat against the floor. So she could tap in time but not dance in time.

She broke the silence when the elevator door opened on an empty hangar deck. 'I need to let off some steam.'

'I'm flattered, but my bunk's on deck 3,' he said before his brain could catch up to his mouth.

Shepard pinned him with a look that was partially hostile and partially… not. He blinked and the heated look was gone. Great, now alcohol was making him not only stupid but hallucinate things. James trailed her to the bolted-down crate that held foam training mats, black squares that interlocked into any arrangement needed for the cramped quarters of a ship. They arranged them into a 3-by-3 metre square along the wall next to his station. The are was partially hidden from the elevator or anyone observing from the windows on the engineering deck—a space he'd sometimes used for sleeping when the crew quarters were a little too stifling.

'What are you shitty about?' he asked, bending to shuck his boots for their spar.

'Everything, but right now the Council.'

Nothing new there. She didn't elaborate, so he figured he didn't need to know.

He placed his boots out of the way and, when he stood back up, Shepard's boots and the top half of her BDUs were set aside. She stood in just her sports bra and pants. Pretty much any other woman and he'd think he was being seduced. Shepard was not seducing him. She'd started her stretches, still frowning and a faraway look in her eyes. He tried to keep his gaze from wandering, but it was hard when she reached her arms over her head, bending from side to side and backwards. Muscles shifted under her creamy skin, not as defined as his but definitely there. He wanted to taste every inch of her and hear the intake of breath when he found somewhere sensitive and—

He shook his head before he let his imagination get too far.

'No biotics,' said James after going quickly through his stretches. He was still warm from his energetic dancing at Purgatory. 'It's not fair.'

'You've got a 12-centimetre height, 10-centimetre reach and almost 30-kilo advantage. How is biotics not fair?'

'You're Commander Shepard,' he said with a shrug, like that explained everything, and it kind of did.

He held out his fist to her. She sighed and rolled her eyes, touching his fist with her own in acquiescence before stepping back into her defensive stance. Interesting. He expected to be the one who was quickly on the back foot. Four seconds of circling and he was. They traded soft blows, Shepard pointing out every now and again a too-wide opening in his defence or what would've been a more effective strike. She was taking this N7 trainer thing more seriously than he thought she would—and here he was, too booze-addled to properly take it in.

Abruptly, they went from standing to him on his back, tapping her leg as she leg-locked him.

'You didn't say we were grappling,' he said, rolling to one knee and shaking out the leg she'd submitted him with.

She grinned, her cheeks flushed and hair messy, and he wondered if that's what she looked like after sex.

'I didn't say we weren't grappling,' she said.

He scowled and got back to his feet. 'Best two out of three.'

'It's a spar, not a competition.'

'Scared?'

'You're baiting me.'

'Is it working?'

'Yes.' She rushed in and took him to the mat again.

He was ready this time though, and when he won that round she wasn't playing anymore. Neither was he. She clipped his chin with her fist; he caught her on the thigh with a kick. He took her to the mat; she turned the tables and trapped him in her guard. Their breathing became harsher, their moves less calculated. Adrenaline cleared the fog of alcohol. It even chased away the awareness of his hands dragging against Shepard's bare skin as he tried to find the fastest way to finish this. And then she slipped up. A swift turn and flip and Shepard was on her front, cheek pressed into the mat. His chest pinned her there as he tried to wriggle his arms underneath her into a better position for a submission. For the second time tonight he was attacked by the smell of strawberries and he paused.

'You know wrestling pins don't count, right?' she said through laboured breaths, flicking him an annoyed look out of the corner of her eye.

His voice was rough with more than exhaustion when he murmured in her ear, 'Maybe I just like having you under me, Lola.'

She froze, the only movement a flicker of her tongue moistening her lips. _Mierda_ , what he wouldn't give to have those lips around his cock.

Shepard tapped her free hand on the mat and James instantly let go, sitting back on his heels and resting his hands on his thighs. He flashed her a shit-eating grin, like he hadn't just been thinking about her on her knees while he fucked her mouth.

'Damn, _chica_ , if I'd known it'd be that easy to rattle you, I'd have won way more matches by now.'

She climbed to her feet and looked like she was going to kick him in the head. Hell, the way he was feeling, he'd probably thank her for the attention.

'Congratulations on your ill-gotten win,' she said drily.

He laughed and jumped up to grab two electrolyte drinks from his station. They weren't cold, but he at least was too hot and sweaty to care. The buzz of alcohol was still there, melding with adrenaline and the thrill of being able to say he'd beaten Shepard, even if the method was underhand. A hefty amount of lust also hovered, heightening his every sense towards her. Her fingers brushed his when she accepted the drink from him and she might as well have dragged her nails down his chest for how it affected him.

 _You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?_

'You didn't get this completely healed,' he said, running his thumb across the pale pink scar of the gunshot wound he'd patched up.

Shepard's skin jumped under his fingers. He dropped his hand. He should've stepped away but he didn't. And she didn't.

'Chakwas has more important things to do than cosmetic surgery,' she said, taking another swig of her drink but keeping her gaze locked with his.

'You can cover it with a tattoo.' He smirked. 'You haven't put my name somewhere special yet, have you?'

'Give me a reason to and I might,' she shot back.

'Is that a challenge, Lola?'

A discrete cough interrupted them. 0600. The changing of the guard, so to speak, and here he was standing close enough to Shepard that a slight bend of his waist and he could finally, finally taste her lips.

She turned from him, swept up her BDU top and her boots and strode to the elevator. Cortez was the interloper (of course). She gave the pilot a crisp 'good morning' before she entered the elevator and disappeared without a backwards glance.

'Not a word, Esteban,' said James as he got to putting the mats back where they belonged.

Humour coloured Cortez's voice as he said, 'I wouldn't dream of trying to give you advice again.'


	4. Chapter 4

Stupid quarians, starting a war when there was already a war. Stupid geth, reaching out to the reapers. Stupid quarians again, wanting to fire on the goddamn geth dreadnaught their team was still fighting through.

James leaned out of cover and shot the geth trooper advancing on his position. It went down in a flurry of distressed trills. He rolled from his cover against a pillar to behind a console ahead. Tali took the spot he'd just vacated. James scanned the higher ground of the walkway for Shepard. She hung back, eye pressed against the scope of her Widow to take down shields, finish enemies and manoeuvre her team.

Shepard's voice came over his earpiece, calm and in control. 'Head down, Lieutenant. Hunter on your eleven.'

She fired in his general direction. He trusted she took down the hunter's camouflage for him and popped up to spray a carnage shot at it. The hunter staggered. James pumped another two rounds into it, his shield soaking up damage in return, before the geth's light finally winked out and it collapsed. He ducked back behind cover as yet another trooper came around the bend ahead. These _pinche_ geth were endless.

'Rocket trooper on your two, Tali,' said Shepard.

A drone materialised next to Tali. 'Get it, Chiktikka.'

'You named it, like a pet? You can't just get a dog or something?' asked James, waiting for a pause in his target's gunfire.

Tali snorted. 'When this war is over, I might build one.'

'You can have the one wandering around my hangar bay, if you want.'

'Focus, you two. I'm coming up on your nine o'clock. Three bogeys remaining.' Shepard's tone turned wry as she added, 'And that's my robot dog and my hangar bay, Lieutenant.'

'Ooh, _bonita_ , I like it when you get possessive.'

Adrenaline short wired his brain, making slipping back into flirtatious banter easy. Her soft laugh wove its way down his chest to settle in his stomach like a sip of fine aged whiskey. A man could get used to that.

He dispatched the trooper and moved forward again, tucking himself behind a pillar. With only two geth left, hopefully they could get off this ship before the quarian fleet started firing. The distortion of a cloak caught his eye as it moved past a pattered section of wall. Tall, broad… and on the walkway.

'Commander, prime heading your way,' he said. 'Moving to intercept.'

'I see it,' she replied. 'Just take care of the other two.'

James frowned even though she couldn't see it. 'You can't take on a prime alone.'

'I'm not alone. Chiktikka's up here—shit.'

Underneath the gunfire, James heard the familiar whir of a turret setting itself up. He looked over at Shepard. She was trapped against a section of wall, the turret covering the doorway on her right and the prime coming up on her left. He could only see the top of the blast shield of the turret, so he couldn't help bring it down. The drone, Chiktikka, tried its best but turret rounds ripped through it and it dissipated.

'Cover me, Sparks,' he said motioning to Tali his intent. The prime was coming up too fast, undaunted by the overload and rifle rounds Shepard threw at it.

James activated his fortification and broke from cover. He let off a wild shot at one of the troopers as he sprinted past it and up the stairs of the walkway, flanking the prime. The turret turned to track him, whirring to life. He aimed his shotgun and it clicked uselessly. Crap. Out of ammo. James threw a frag grenade underneath the turret instead and rolled into cover. He was completely open to the prime, but it was more focused on rounding the wall to get to Shepard than it was on him. The grenade went off, metal screeching as the turret tore apart.

'Shields down,' said Shepard, and James didn't know if she meant the prime's or her own. Either way, he had to move. Another geth, a rocket trooper, had spotted him.

James charged towards the prime, which had finally rounded the corner and focused entirely on Shepard. He took a rocket to side, warning lights flashing on his HUD that his shields were down too. A glance at Shepard as he cleared the wall showed her crouched low, a gash on her cheek leaking red, and no cover to hide behind.

'Targets eliminated,' said Tali.

It would've been better if the quarian had done that before James had lost his shields and was almost on top of a prime, his fortification sent to charge his gauntlets and just his armour to protect him if he seriously misjudged this gamble. This stupid, stupid gamble. He roared as he leapt at the hulking geth. The charge from his gauntlets fried across the prime's body. It spasmed and lurched under James's attack. It didn't go down though. It elbowed him in the gut and James stumbled back, winded. His HUD still flashed red. His shields weren't coming back online for another two seconds. The geth turned to him, gun raised. Gamble lost.

'James, get down.'

The distinctive smell of primed eezo filtered through the open faceplate of his helmet. He wasn't proud of it, but at Shepard's barked order he simply flattened himself against the floor. A warp field singed his shields just as they came back online and that blue corona slammed into the geth. James rolled away before it could crush him. It collapsed, light winking out less than arm's length away from his prone position.

'Clear,' said Shepard, coming to stand above him. He grinned up at her and she answered with a scowl. 'That was reckless.'

'Worked, though.'

She shook her head, still angry, and stalked off. That was not the thanks he was expecting. He climbed to his feet with a groan. James rubbed his abs as he followed Shepard and Tali down a ladder to free that trapped geth, Legion. Then the quarians started firing and they were running, which sucked. The ship falling apart around them sucked too. Wedging into the back of the geth fighter sucked a lot, even if Shepard was against him head to toe. It sucked to be engulfed in that faint smell of strawberry that lingered under heat sinks and eezo and recycled air while her hard armour jabbed his sore stomach. At least the pain distracted him from the way her ass was pressed against his groin.

When they returned to the _Normandy_ , she muttered about ripping apart short-sighted quarian admirals as she unclipped her weapons and stormed to the elevator. For a second, he thought she was going to take the weapons to the war room with her, but, as usual, she dropped them on his weapons bench as she passed it. She turned once she was in the elevator, arms crossed. Her glower deepened as she spotted him rubbing his stomach. He let out a relieved breath when the doors shut on her livid face.

Tali hopped out of the geth shuttle that was now awkwardly lying on its side in the hangar bay. It took up what little space there was left. He had no idea what the hell they were going to do with it.

'I've never had Shepard as mad at me as she is as you right now,' said Tali, heading to the elevator as well.

James trailed after her, placing his guns on the weapons bench next to Shepard's. He would come down to clean them after a shower and post-mission check-up with Chakwas.

'She's mad at your admirals, not me,' he replied.

Tali cocked her head and he didn't need to see her expression behind that tinted faceplate to know she thought he was an idiot. 'She was worried about you.'

James shrugged. 'She's worried about everyone.'

'Not everyone runs at a prime with no shields and no ammo, _bosh'tet_.'

He shrugged again. 'Her shields were down and she was cornered. Better me than her.'

The elevator returned to the hangar bay and he motioned for Tali to enter first. She leaned back against the elevator wall, studying him with those glowing eyes as he pressed the button to take them to the crew deck.

'What?' he asked once the silence got too uncomfortable for him, which admittedly wasn't very long. There were too many people on this ship giving him long, thoughtful looks.

The doors slid open and Tali pushed off from the wall. 'Nothing. See you.'

She made a beeline for Garrus's hideout in engineering while he trudged into the medbay. Some prodding, a painkiller and a shower later and he was back in the hangar bay cleaning the weapons and talking smack with Cortez. He was halfway through cleaning Shepard's Widow when a message from her came through on his omnitool.

 _My quarters. Now._

He contemplated not going, but military doctrine had been drilled into him so deeply that he couldn't imagine disobeying his CO. Go up. Get chewed out. Seethe when he was back down here. Get it done quick, like ripping off a band aid.

James made his way up to the captain's deck. Shepard's door opened for him automatically. She was back in her BDUs, her hair damp from a shower. She paced before her bed on silent, bare feet, a scowl on her face as she read something off the datapad in her hand. Whether that anger was because of whatever she was reading, the confrontation she most likely already had with the quarians or him, he didn't know. It was probably all three, and now he had to face the storm that was Shepard. He should've kept his armour on.

He came to a stop at the top of the stairs, feeling a little safer up there.

She tossed the datapad onto the couch and rounded on him. _Dios mio_ she was beautiful when she was all fire and brimstone like that.

'I thought we already had a conversation about stupid heroics.' She pointed a finger at him. 'You almost got yourself killed today.'

He pointed at himself too, incredulous at her hypocrisy. 'Me? You were the one out in the open without shields. Again.'

'I was handling it.'

'Really? To me it looked like I'd need to scrape up what was left of you and bring it back to the ship in a bag.'

'I had a warp field primed and my tech armour was ready to detonate.' She stepped within reach of him. 'Are you questioning my tactics?'

'I'm questioning your sanity.'

'If you don't like it, Vega, you're welcome to leave when we get back to the Citadel.' She waved her hand in the air, wafting the smell of her strawberry shampoo towards him.

'I don't want to leave you,' he said, and the way he said it, angry and raw, was too revealing.

Shepard snapped her mouth shut and stared up at him. His blood pounded in his ears. He hadn't meant the 'you' to slip out. Her gaze roved over his face, reading emotions he'd never in his life been very good at hiding. Bizarrely, amazingly, underneath that searching frown lurked an echo of the desire and curiosity that he felt every time she entered a room. They were teetering on a ledge and he could either take a step off it or walk out of the room.

 _You ever gonna make good on all this flirting?_

Fuck it. He descended the steps, closing the distance between them before he could overthink things again, and kissed her.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter is exceedingly short as it mainly deals with adult content I can't/won't post here. If you want to read the whole thing, you can find it on AO3, _Making Good_ by Minque.

* * *

The kiss wasn't his finest. It was harsh and needy, a crash of lips and a gasp of surprise that he took advantage of. She tasted of asari elasa, 'Sorrow's Companion'. Bitter, sharp, cloying. He usually avoided the stuff, hating how it burned ice instead of fire down his chest, but Shepard was all heat and he wanted to taste it, taste her, more. Her fingers fluttered at the edge of his waistband, body rigid even as she explored his mouth with her own tongue. Shepard, always in control, even when this was the perfect time to lose control.

While one hand drifted south to grab a handful of Shepard's ass and grind himself against her, the other curled in her hair. A soft moan left her as he turned her head to trail kisses and nips along her jaw and down the neck he'd stared at too many times. Her pulse beat a staccato against his lips but it was that damn strawberry shampoo that undid him. He bit, hard, and the tension in Shepard snapped. She pulled at his shirt, seeking skin, and he smiled as he soothed the bite with his lips and tongue in apology.

'No marks,' she ground out as she raked nails across the sensitive skin of his waist. 'Unprofessional.'

'Okay,' he said, even though the idea of her walking around with a bite mark others could see made his cock twitch.

His fingers slid blindly, expertly over the clasps and buttons and zippers of her BDUs. They were no different from his, whenever he bothered to wear them, which wasn't often. She was feverishly hot from a biotic's fast metabolism and her skin was smooth except for the gunshot scar she hadn't erased. He didn't fully believe the story about Chakwas having better things to do. This wasn't the only wound he'd seen her get and he hadn't seen any evidence of those ones. But he wasn't going to pry, not right now.

He never thought he'd see Shepard so undone, a halo of red hair messed by his hands and lips swollen from his kisses. A slight swivel and a few steps back and she was against the curved wall of the aquarium, blue light rippling across her. He dropped to his knees, worshiping the hard-earned muscles of her abdomen, a reminder that she was as much weapon as woman. He pressed a kiss to the scar, and her hand brushed through his hair in a gentle caress that held more sweetness than demand. _Caray_ , when she did that he could almost believe that this was going to be more.

He stopped his thoughts from going down paths he hadn't dared walk even in his dreams. Soon the bottom half of her clothes joined the top half on the floor behind him.

* * *

When James woke, it was to stars instead of the bunk above his in the crew quarters. The night's memories filtered back. _Híjole_ , he had sex with Shepard. Multiple times. He looked down at her using his shoulder as a pillow, hand curled on his chest and leg thrown over his under the covers. Even in sleep she frowned. He smoothed a thumb over that faint line and she made a small hum of protest. Her eyes cracked open and she stiffened against his side. A second later, she relaxed again and rolled over, taking her warmth with her. Sensing movement, the holographic clock lit up, faint orange in the darkness of the night cycle. Just before 0400.

'Two more hours,' she mumbled and fell asleep again with her back to him.

This was awkward. His arm was trapped under her head. Was he supposed to spoon her or leave? He stared at her back, weighing the consequences of both actions. She hadn't told him to leave, but her rolling away from him suggested he should. He brushed away the sting of dismissal. It was just sex. Flirting followed through.

Her breathing evened out, and he gently pulled his arm from under her. He slipped off the bed, trying not to jostle it too much, and hunted for his clothes. Cold seeped into his feet from the tiles, but he avoided making noise clomping around her cabin in his boots, instead balling up his socks and stuffing them into his shoes. He slid on his boxers and pants and pulled his shirt on but nonetheless shivered. Her room was always arctic.

He stopped at the top of the stairs, looking back at her curled up in the rumpled bed. In the dim light thrown by the aquarium, her red hair stood out against the white sheets and her pale skin. He almost got undressed again to climb back in the bed and wake her up with his tongue. But whispers of doubt wheedled their way into his mind, like they always did when he thought about acting on whatever this spark was with Shepard. It was just flirting, just fun, just his way. It was nothing.

He left.


	6. Chapter 6

That should've been the end of it. He'd made good on the flirting. They'd had a mutually enjoyable night. Fascination over.

Except it wasn't.

She hadn't said anything the morning after. The only sign that she acknowledged what happened was a touch to the bite mark he'd left (oops) and a burning glare as she flicked her hair forward to cover it. The mark was faint but undeniable once you did notice it. Like he was now, two days later, at the fuel reactor on Cyone. The top of it peeked out from under the neck of her armour.

He tracked her movements as she walked around talking to Captain Riley and his people. No one paid attention to James, sitting on a crate with his rifle in his lap and his helmet obscuring most of his face. He would be hiding behind his breather plate too, except armour-recycled air was stifling. He avoided it when he could.

This feeling that'd lodged itself in his chest was worse than before. He moved to rub his chest and caught himself, instead pretending to check the seals on his helmet. The flirting that had come naturally now got tangled in his brain before ever reaching his lips. It was easier and safer if he stuck with barely talking at all.

Shepard finished her intel gathering and walked over to him, her helmet under her arm. Her expression wasn't open—Shepard was never an open book—but she looked neither hostile nor in business mode. He would've preferred either of those to this ambiguity. As she got closer, he gripped his rifle tighter, whether as a shield or just so he wouldn't reach out to touch her, he didn't know.

'Do I have something on my face?' she asked. 'You've been watching me all day.'

'No, ma'am,' he said. 'Just waiting for orders.'

Something he didn't recognise crossed her face before it smoothed into the Commander Shepard expression she usually wore on a mission. She slipped on her helmet, hiding everything but her eyes.

When she spoke again, there was a hint of frost that wasn't usually there. 'I'm on point. Watch my six. Garrus has the high ground.'

He frowned. 'But you always take the high ground.'

'Do we have a problem, Lieutenant?'

James's attention snagged on Garrus, who was fully suited up and pressing buttons at a terminal but who had stilled at those words and looked at them. Goddammit. She'd spoken on the open comm line once her helmet had sealed her in.

He tapped the button on his helmet that would close the tinted breather plate. He could keep his voice level, but he knew better than to pretend he could keep his face neutral.

'No, ma'am,' he repeated.

Once the reaper troops were cleared from the fuel reactor and they were heading back to the Normandy, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. On a mission, he could hide behind his helmet. In the shuttle there'd be questions if he kept the helmet on, and he couldn't mask what would surely be on his face if he had to stare at her for twenty minutes. When they returned to the ship, she dropped her weapons on his bench for cleaning and entered the elevator alone. Once again, her gaze landed on him, but this time he looked away, heart stuttering.

She started to avoid him. Or maybe he avoided her. Either way, it made him more restless than when he was simply tongue-tied around her. That look he didn't recognise kept replaying in his brain too.

Five days after Cyone (not that he was counting) and the night Shepard blew up the ardat-yakshi monastery, insomnia found him at his punching bag at 0200. Sweat dripped down his skin and his muscles ached but his mind was no more settled. He thought he was hallucinating when he turned to grab his drink bottle and Shepard was standing behind him, except if he were hallucinating then surely she'd be naked already. He couldn't help the rake of his gaze over the curves of her breasts and her waist and her hips.

She waved her hand at the mats that someone had set up earlier and neglected to put away. 'Wanna dance?'

He took a deep draw of his drink and didn't miss the way her eyes sharpened when he licked water off his lips.

'Sure, Lola,' was all he trusted himself to say, because this was a charade, an excuse, and neither would ever acknowledge that aloud.

They did spar, for about 10 minutes, enough for adrenaline to heighten their lust, and then she was on her knees and he was fucking her mouth, exactly as he'd imagined the last time they'd sparred. Her hair was silk, bunched in his hands, and her tongue did wicked things that had him taut and coming down her throat in less time than he'd have liked. On the mats, they took their pleasure in silence, swallowing each other's moans and cries with kisses until they'd sated whatever this pull between them was.

It happened again and again after that, in an empty hangar bay or coming as a summons to her cabin or the apartment Anderson left her on the Citadel. James committed to memory every detail of these stolen moments when he had Shepard the woman. She'd never concede a weakness but she always came to him when something rattled her cage. The Shepard he had in short snatches bore the weight of a galaxy and demanded to escape into mindless pleasure, sometimes sweet and sometimes not.

But it was only ever fleeting.

Commander Shepard was a different beast, all hard edges and spikes, sarcasm and frowns. They'd returned to their casual banter, their flirting and the occasional scolding. This whole thing would've been easier if she were Commander Shepard all the time. That way, each time she left him, be it by walking off or rolling away from him in bed—the silent signal that he should leave—maybe a piece of his heart wouldn't chip off and go with her.

* * *

James focused on installing an upgraded stability damper on his Vindicator. Anything to keep his hands busy and his mind off Shepard down on Rannoch without him. Now that they were good again, having to sit in orbit felt like he was being punished. Intellectually, he knew that was _loco_. A planet full of geth should have techy people like Tali and Garrus going with her. It wasn't like storming the dreadnought.

'Shuttle incoming,' announced EDI, and the bay doors opened onto the blackness of space.

Even though he'd seen this hundreds of times, his stomach still dropped at the thought that it was just a thin kinetic barrier that kept the atmosphere in. If the barrier ever failed, he'd be sucked into space and wouldn't survive long enough for someone to get him before he died. Like everyone else, he took cover in the sheltered alcoves as the shuttle roared into the ship, blowing heat and dust everywhere. The shuttle brought in with it the slightly metallic burnt-steak smell of space.

James was the first to leave the alcove and return to his station, but he didn't return to work. He leaned a hip against the bench, arms crossed over his chest while he waited for the shuttle doors to slide open. When they did, Shepard jumped out and she was all fury. She stalked toward him, and he prided himself on not taking a step back at the murder in her eyes. He quirked a questioning eyebrow. Not just murder but sorrow. She unclipped her weapons and shoved them at him before making her usual beeline for the elevator. Her hands flexed as if she wanted to punch something but she just stepped into the elevator, keeping her back to them all while the doors closed.

The metallic clang of Garrus's boots pulled his attention to the turian now heading towards him. Exhaustion kept his mandibles tight against his jaw. James wasn't an expert at reading turian expressions yet, but he at least knew that one.

'What happened?' James asked, setting Shepard's weapons down on his bench.

'Legion sacrificed himself to upload his reaper code to the geth neural network.'

James stared at him. 'You're gonna have to speak plainer than that, Scars.'

Garrus's mandibles fluttered and he rolled his eyes. That was the other look James recognised—exasperation. A roll of the eyes was pretty universal. 'Legion's dead. The geth have true intelligence. Their war with the quarians is over.'

Legion. James didn't really know the geth, but Shepard had called him a friend. This was a cage-rattler for sure. He'd been Garrus's friend too though, which might account for the downturn of the turian's shoulders.

'I'm sorry,' said James.

'Don't get all sappy on me, Jimmy,' Garrus replied, but he quirked a small smile of thanks too.

James returned to work, setting aside his modification to clean Shepard's weapons and wait for her summons. When it hit the night cycle and no one had seen Shepard since she'd stormed off, Cortez gave him a look that saw and said too much. James was pretty sure no one knew what he and Shepard got up to, but Cortez had been his friend for long enough that if anyone could figure it out then it was him. You had to watch out for the silent ones.

Once James was off duty, he found himself stepping out of the elevator onto the captain's deck. He shouldn't be here. He should wait for her to tell him to come up, as per usual, but worry nibbled at him. Shepard's door was locked, and he paused. His abuela would say it was a sign from God for him to return to his bunk. Except his traitorous feet wouldn't move.

The holograph on the door flickered from red to green, and the door opened before he had a chance to retreat. She wasn't standing in front of him, so he assumed that EDI had told her he was out there and that Shepard wanted him to come in. EDI was the other one you had to watch out for, but he never believed he'd get away with hiding anything from her ever. He stepped over the threshold, and the door closed and locked again. The lights were dim but not dark enough for sleep. He found Shepard on the couch, a mostly finished bottle of whiskey on the table and the top of her BDUs already half undone. He tried and only partially succeeded in keeping himself from admiring the exposed V of pale skin.

'This looks healthy,' he said, waving to the lights and the bottle as he hopped down the stairs to come stand in front of the coffee table.

She took a slow sip of the amber liquid, watching him with hooded eyes over the rim of her glass, before she said with a slight slur, 'You don't get to lecture me on drinking in the dark.'

'I do it in the dark, but I still do it with other people.'

She leaned forward and fumbled for a second glass from a shelf under the table. She held it out for him and motioned with her chin for him to sit. He hesitated. This wasn't how it worked when they were alone. They didn't sit around and drink and talk like they did when others were around. It had a kind of intimacy that didn't mesh with being sent on his way after sex.

'Sit down or get out,' she said.

He should get out, except the same part of him that'd sent him up to check on her whispered at him to stay.

He sat.

James poured himself less whiskey than he usually would. He got two sips in before she knocked back the rest of her glass and climbed into his lap. Her kiss was bruising. He knew this kind of desperation. He was kissing a Shepard whose mind wasn't here at all. He could have been anybody, and that hurt.

His cock twitched as she dragged a hand across it, but he turned his head to the side and asked, 'Shepard, what are you doing?'

'Don't talk,' she said, drunken hands fumbling with his belt.

He didn't want it like this. The realisation was an omniblade to the gut. He didn't want to be a glorified dildo. He knew that this wasn't going anywhere, but any other time they were together Shepard saw _him_ and wanted to lose herself in what _he_ could do to her body.

James caught her wrists. She leaned back but didn't immediately get off him.

'You lost a friend today,' he said.

For a split second he glimpsed her hopelessness and then she threw her emotional barrier back up. She was Commander Shepard, in control.

'I don't want to talk about it,' she said.

He eyed the bottle of whiskey. 'You probably should.'

'Let me rephrase that: I don't want to talk to you about it.'

He stared at her, her wrists still caught in his. He knew he was never going to have Shepard the way he wanted, but he liked to think they were at least friends. Her eyes narrowed, and he dumped her off his lap. James stood, needing to get away from the heat and the smell of her.

'Whatever, Commander. Sit here and drink alone in the dark instead of talking to someone who—'

'Who what? You're just a distraction, Vega.' She snatched up the bottle on the table and gulped the last of the alcohol down while he was too frozen by her words to move. It was one thing to think it but another to hear it. She slammed the bottle down on the table and glared at him. 'What we do is no different from downing a bottle of whiskey, and I think I'm over whiskey. You're dismissed.'

He should never have come up here.


	7. Chapter 7

Shepard didn't avoid him; she ignored him. He didn't know how to ignore someone who simultaneously made his blood boil and his stomach flip, so he avoided her. Well, he did until they'd picked up Ann Bryson on that reaper-infested planet. It'd taken one chat with Ann on their way back to the Citadel for James to figure that the doctor would do anything to find Leviathan—and, knowing Shepard, she'd let her. James was right, of course, which is how he found himself at his punching bag while they flew to Despoina.

He should've ignored Shepard when she ordered him to keep the link with Leviathan open, but she was his CO and his training kicked in. _I hope it was worth it._ He'd glanced at her when he'd said it, Ann trembling and clinging to him. There'd been a flash of regret in Shepard's eyes, but not enough. Certainly not enough to stop bitterness bleeding into the rest of him as he deposited an almost comatose Ann at a medical facility.

Boots rang on the deck behind him, but he ignored them and continued pummelling the bag. It was the middle of the day shift. Plenty of people walked in and out and around the hangar. If it were the night cycle, he definitely would have turned.

Shepard's voice cut through his thoughts of her. 'Suit up. We're going planet-side in two hours.'

He took one last vicious strike at the bag, making the chain creak where it was attached to the bar above, and turned to her. She stood on the other side of his station, arms crossed over her chest and her commander face on. She was always Commander Shepard now. He didn't get to see just Shepard anymore and damn if that didn't sit a bit too heavily inside him.

The air between them crackled. He wanted to ask if she knew what they were going up against, but he didn't trust himself to not then say something stupid if she said anything that rubbed him even slightly the wrong way. One spark and things might blow up. _Tio_ Emilio taught him the value of occasionally shutting up, so he kept his lips pinched in a thin line and nodded.

A bead of sweat ran down his neck, and he didn't miss how Shepard's gaze locked onto it. His mind unhelpfully supplied memories of her mouth trailing nips and kisses up his neck to a sensitive spot below his ear that she enjoyed torturing him with. She spun away and stalked to the elevator, back ramrod straight. He briefly caught her eye when she turned in the elevator and her look of pure want shot straight to his groin, which until then was happy to be dormant. Some tension leaked out of him as the doors closed but came back when he noticed Cortez giving him one of his meaningful looks. The last time he'd acted on one of the pilot's meaningful looks, things had gone to shit.

James flipped him off and turned his back, supposedly to wipe the sweat from his body with his gym towel but really to tell his half-hard cock to calm down. It didn't work. Only one thing would right now—two things, but one of them might see him lose that precious appendage. He adjusted himself and beat a hasty retreat to the crew deck's showers. He stood under a spray of cool water, hoping but knowing that that wasn't going to help either.

He wanted to punch something some more. Shepard had been the one who'd ended things. She shouldn't be allowed to give him looks that made him want to chase after her and fuck her in the elevator.

James turned up the temperature of the water until steam clouded the bathroom. Wrapping his hand around his shaft, he closed his eyes and leaned a forearm against the wall, remembering another shower scene with Shepard. It didn't take long for his hips to jerk as he reached his release, him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making any noise, least of all saying her name.

The water turned cold, his allotment of hot water used up, and he let that wake him from his post-climax bliss. At the very least, he wasn't going to be diverted by an unsatiated dick while on a mission.

He finished washing himself quickly and two hours later stood next to the shuttle in the hangar bay, checking his systems and weapons. Shepard strode in, helmet already on. He didn't want to read into that too much. She climbed into the shuttle and James got in next so he could snag the seat furthest away from her. She didn't sit but stood behind Cortez with a tight hold on the handrail that ran along the ceiling, so he took the seat by the door. Seemed like the safest bet. The ultimate safe bet was to slip his helmet on, which he did while she, Cortez and Garrus fell into mission talk. Since she had hers on, he wouldn't get funny looks for wanting to hide behind metal and tinted glass. He might not be distracted by a hard-on, but his emotions still roiled and that was going to get him killed if he couldn't get a lid on it.

When had he started to fall for her? Was it before or after the Citadel docks, when he was trapped between a batarian's needle and her teasing, leading, maddening question? Was it before he even met her, when she was an inspiration he'd only seen on vidscreens? She'd sunk her roots into him at some point. Even now, with her callous words chasing themselves around his head, his senses were drunk on the taste of her skin, on her head thrown back in ecstasy, on the gasps and moans he wrung from her. When he was with her, be it in private or out in this breaking galaxy, her single-minded need to save them from annihilation burned away what fear and pain this war and the Collectors and the Fehl asari, Treeya, had wreaked on him. He was a stupid, stupid man for reaching for the unattainable… again.

* * *

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ James turned tail and sprinted for cover as a reaper brute bore down on him. He almost reached cover too. He grunted as the brute slammed into him and he went flying into a wall. His vision swam as he got to his knees too slowly to get out of the brute's way. The thing gripped his head in strong, metal fingers and James sent a volley of blind, virtually useless gunfire against it. Black stuff oozed from the wounds, but the brute slammed him against the wall again and then the floor. He'd dropped his gun in the onslaught. He was going to die on some backwater (hah!) planet—not exactly the heroic ending he'd imagined for himself. He drove his fortify charge to his gauntlets, a last-ditch effort to get the brute to at least let go of him, and sent the shock to the brute's hand. It roared and dropped him, but James just crumpled to a heap, not any closer to getting away.

The brute reached for him again and then a missile ripped through the thing's middle, almost severing it at the waist. Silence. Shepard and Garrus must have finished off the other brutes while this one was trying to make James into a human smoothie. He wiped black gunk from his faceplate and then crawled towards his dropped rifle. Shepard's Triton mech was turned towards him, gun smoking in the constant drizzle of this useless world. He couldn't see her in detail behind the tinted glass, but he nodded at her in thanks. The Triton turned away from him and headed towards Cortez, standing near the edge of the wreck they were trapped on. James hobbled over to them while Cortez walked around the mech, scanning it with his omnitool, and Garrus exchanged words with Shepard that didn't carry to him. He got there just as Cortez said she could dive.

James listed to one side, hand over his aching ribs. 'But Shepard—'

The fierce look she gave him told him to shut up, and then her gaze flickered down to where he clutched his torso and her face softened. 'I'll be fine.'

He nodded and got out of her way. A splash and she was gone.

'Serious injuries?' asked Garrus, pulling James's attention away from where Shepard had disappeared.

'No, just my pride, _hermano_ ,' said James, glaring over Garrus's shoulder at the remains of the brute that'd almost killed him.

The turian chuckled. 'Sorry, can't fix that.'

While Garrus helped Cortez do what they could to make sure the shuttle would stay airborne when Shepard returned, James stepped into the shuttle to grab the medkit. Omnigel could only do so much. There were stronger, better painkillers that'd erase the pain until Chakwas could patch him up. He was pretty sure nothing was broken, but his ribs screamed at him. Hell, it hurt to breathe. He hissed as he unclipped the seals on his chestplate. He was glad for the alone time as, when he eased out of his armour, he swore in a way that'd get him smacked upside the head if his _abuela_ ever heard him. He injected the painkiller concoction through his underweave and waited for it to kick in.

James leaned his head back against the headrest, thinking of the look Shepard had given him before she went under. She'd never given him that look before and certainly not on a mission. She was a hardass in the field. The glare he'd expected. The relief on her face though… yeah, that was relief. He chewed his lip. A tiny spark came to life inside him even with the numbness that was spreading through his system as the painkillers started working. He shouldn't read into her expression. He sure as shit shouldn't pin anything on it. But he couldn't help it. The corner of his mouth ticked up.

Shepard cared.

James let himself bask in the sweetness of that knowledge as adrenaline seeped out of his system and the painkillers relaxed him. A clang outside jerked him out of his stupor, but either no one had noticed him dozing off or they let him. Either way, it was unprofessional. He'd deal with Shepard and his ribs and whatever else later. He focused on getting his armour back on, his movements smooth now that he couldn't feel anything.

'Incoming,' said Garrus over the open comm link just as James was done checking over his armour's systems.

With a groan that had to do with annoyance rather than pain, James grabbed his weapon and joined Garrus and Cortez behind cover.

'Estaban, take the shuttle. Stay low. Come back when Shepard's back,' said James, and Cortez patted his shoulder and headed for the shuttle.

James hunkered next to Garrus, looking down the sight of his rifle. Two brutes lumbered from the far end of the wreck, hindered by obstacles. Said obstacles didn't much slow the husks though, which Garrus was picking off with his sniper rifle. Brutes were bad enough. A swarm of husks could overwhelm them before the brutes even got to them.

'Shepard online yet?' asked James, waiting for the husks to come within his firing range.

'Negative. Still trying,' replied Cortez.

James grimaced. This might get ugly. The heat of the shuttle roaring to life and lifting off warmed his back and, for a brief second, it evaporated the drizzle around them. And then the husks were in firing range.

Garrus and James kept the husks from overwhelming them, but the brutes were getting closer and the husks kept appearing and running for them in that strange zombie lope. Fuck, he hoped that Shepard was still alive and had convinced Leviathan to help them and, most of all, that she came back before the brutes got to them and tore them apart.

'Grenades?' asked Garrus as the brutes clambered over the last obstacle.

'I'm out,' said James.

Garrus made a humming noise. 'Maybe you can distract them with some dancing while I fight. You used to be a stripper on Omega, right?'

James snorted. 'I'm out of practise, but maybe you can distract them by catching a rocket with your face.'

Garrus chuckled as they dropped back a line of defence. They were one piece of cover away from falling into the endless ocean when Shepard's Triton jumped onto the wreck. The brutes halted their advance, swivelling what used to be turian heads to the new threat. The glass of the cockpit lifted and Shepard all but fell out while the mech tumbled backwards into the water. Shepard got only a few steps before she collapsed again. The brutes sensed the weakness and stepped towards her.

'Cover me!' James broke from his crouch without waiting for an affirmative and sprinted to Shepard. He helped her to her feet, uncaring that he had his back to the brutes. Maybe this was when his number was finally up. A crunch and a grunt behind him made him look over his shoulder and his mouth dropped open in his helmet. The brutes were fighting each other.

'Come on,' said Garrus, voice harsh over the comm. Cortez had returned with the shuttle.

Garrus shot at husks as the brutes took on each other. Shepard's legs buckled before they reached the transport and James hooked an arm under her knees, running the last few steps. He slid her onto the floor of the hovering shuttle before hopping in himself. Garrus jumped in after him and Cortez took off before the reaper forces could come to their senses. James vaguely heard Cortez yell something about an incoming reaper, but James was too focused on getting Shepard's helmet off her limp body.

He popped the seals on her helmet and pulled it off. A trail of blood leaked from Shepard's nose the same way it had from Ann's, and his heart rate kicked up a notch. His omnitool said she was alive, but he pulled off his glove with his teeth and found her pulse to check anyway. _Dios_ , her skin was so cold. Shepard was never cold.

She came to with hacking coughs, like her lungs were filled with invisible water. James let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and curled his fist on his knee to stop himself from reaching out for her. She clambered backwards and into a seat, shaking her head free of whatever Leviathan had done to her. His heart still pounded in his ears but at least his throat didn't feel like a rock was lodged in it anymore. Shepard's eyes were still hazy as she wiped away the blood under her nose, staring at it for a second before smearing it on her armour.

He wanted to crush her in a hug, but he settled on staying crouched before her and asking, 'You okay?'

'Yeah… yeah, I'm fine. Hell of a headache.'

'Never do that again,' he said, raw fear making his words come out hoarser and harsher than he'd intended.

There was a second where that unreadable expression he'd gotten weeks ago on Cyone came back, then her gaze slid to Garrus behind them and it was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Once again, this chapter has sexual content that you can read in full on AO3, _Making Good_ by Minque.

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James lay on his bunk in the crew quarters, arm draped over his eyes to block out the light as he dozed. It'd been a handful of hours since they'd returned from Despoina but he had a whole day-night cycle before he was back on duty properly. A buzz from his omnitool woke him and he blinked bleary eyes as a message from Shepard appeared.

 _Come up when you have time._

He cocked an eyebrow. That was possibly the politest thing Shepard had ever sent him. He contemplated leaving her hanging for a bit but that hadn't been this style before, so it shouldn't be now. He swung his legs off his bunk and stood, muscles protesting. Chakwas had fixed him for the most part, but in his line of work he didn't want to get hooked on painkillers for every boo-boo. He'd seen too many good soldiers go down that path. Addiction was a curse. His dad had proven that.

James made his way to Shepard's cabin. Like it did before Rannoch, the door opened for him automatically. Like the night of Rannoch though, Shepard sat on the couch, a drink in hand while she read something on a datapad. She put down the datapad and gave him a wry smile when his gaze flickered to the drink.

'Don't worry. It's apple juice,' she said, shaking the glass.

It had worried him. A bit of nervousness leaked from his shoulders, but he maintained his parade rest in front of her coffee table. Silence was his best bet right now, especially since her hair curled at the ends from dampness and the strawberry smell was strongest when her hair wasn't dry. That scent still short-wired his brain as effectively as being beaten by a brute.

She placed her glass on the table and stood. He willed her not to come over, but she did, standing within reach. Strawberries teased the very edge of his senses, and he couldn't help inhaling a little deeper. She studied his face for long enough that his nose started itching and he tightened his grip on his hand behind his back to stop from scratching it. He didn't know what she was waiting for and nervousness had him focusing his attention on a spot over her shoulder.

'I'm sorry for what I said after Rannoch,' she said in a soft voice he hadn't heard from her before. He lost his concentration on that spot over her shoulder and looked at her again. She continued, 'It was cruel.'

This was Shepard, his Shepard. She wasn't laying herself bare—that seemed anti-Shepard—but she wasn't trying to shut him out either. The opposite, actually, which floored him.

After a few beats where he tried to read where this was going and ended up short, he said, 'No shit.'

Annoyance marred her brow, but she let it go. When she spoke again, her hands waved in the air like she was batting away words and grasping others that didn't really make sense once they were strung together. 'Look, I've had people… been with people… but it's been a long time since... since I had someone… someone.'

He blinked. 'Someone someone?'

Shepard scrubbed a hand over her face and spun away from him. She snatched up her drink and downed it. A grimace passed over her face like she'd just realised that apple juice was not fortifying like alcohol was.

'You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?' she asked, facing him again.

'I have no idea what you want to say, Shepard, so no.'

A scowl passed over her face and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth to chew on. He did have an idea of what she was getting at, but it could be the wrong idea and while he wasn't someone who always had to be right he definitely didn't want to be wrong about this.

Shepard must have made up her mind about what she wanted to say when she put her hands on her waist and invaded his personal space again. 'You don't get to fuck me and leave when you're done and then offer a shoulder to cry on when I'm trying to handle my shit the way that usually works for me.'

His thoughts stuttered over her words—that it was his choice to leave. He matched her frown and said, 'I don't leave when I'm done. I leave when you're done. You roll away from me like you want me to go.'

Shepard's frown melted and for the first time James could track all her emotions. Her expression slid into surprise and then, annoyingly, into amusement.

'You've got to be kidding me.' She started laughing, which didn't help his mood. 'I'm a biotic. I'm constantly too hot. Why do you think my room is so cold compared to the rest of the ship?'

He stared at her while she continued to laugh. He scrolled back through his memories of her feverish skin against his hands, of her commenting on the comfortable temperature of Noveria's settlement when his balls felt like they were going to freeze off even in climate-controlled armour, of her shunning hot drinks for iced ones no matter the temperature.

'Are you telling me I just wasted a week being pissed at you because I couldn't figure out that you were too hot to hug?' he asked.

She sobered then. 'No. You spent a week mad because I wanted to hurt you.'

'You did.'

She dropped her gaze and said quietly, 'I didn't expect to.'

So he was right when he'd been reflecting on the softness of her expression on Desponia. Shepard cared; she just didn't know what to do with it. That, and she thought he didn't care. He reached out to run his fingers along her cheek until they curled in her hair. She leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting closed.

This was another ledge they were teetering on. The first one all those weeks ago, when he'd first kissed her in this room, was a false precipice. They had to take a leap now to fall properly, and this time it was Shepard who jumped first. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder, hugging his bruised ribs tight enough that he winced and she murmured an apology. He breathed in the scent of strawberries that he'd been missing, one hand tangled in her hair and the other around her shoulders. She fit in his arms like she was meant to be there and when she lifted her face and he brushed his lips softly against hers it was like coming home.

This kiss was different. It was tentative and slow and exploratory, like they hadn't spent hours kissing and more before today. She tasted of apples, not whiskey or asari alcohol. Great, now there was another fruit that was going to give him inappropriate thoughts. Shepard's hands snuck underneath his shirt, meandering over his back, reacquainting herself with muscles that jumped when she dragged her nails against them.

The kiss turned heated as Shepard guided him backwards until his calves hit the bed and he sat. Shepard climbed into his lap with less desperate aggression than she had before she'd kicked him out a week ago. She returned to devouring his mouth, and when she rocked against his groin his hands tightened against her hips.

'You're not a bottle of whiskey, James,' she said against his lips.

'I'm obviously a bottle of tequila.' He smirked and pressed her harder against his lap. 'A big bottle.'

Shepard did that low huff of laughter that always scattered his thoughts. 'That's not what I meant.'

'I know what you meant, Lola, but I'm a little too distracted for talking.' He proved the point by trailing his lips down her neck as his hands made fast work of her BDUs and the bra underneath.

'Is this the part where you remind me that you've thought of a lot of ways of shutting me up?' she asked, and he answered by dipping his head to her chest, which did get her to stop talking. There was a time for conversation and this wasn't it.

It'd only been a week since he'd touched her and more than a week since they'd had sex but it felt like a month. Like a year. Like forever. He'd never get enough of her. This time it felt different though. Before, their coupling had been fuelled by either the adrenaline of surviving yet another battle or Shepard's frustration at being thwarted by a galaxy full of people unwilling to trust her. This time they took their time mapping each other's bodies like it was uncharted territory. In a way, it was.

He let her set the pace, foreheads pressed together and gazes locked. Watching her like this had an intimacy that he—that they both—had refused to connect with when they were convinced the other was only there for the sex. Now he let himself truly get lost in hazy green eyes and strawberries and the soft kisses she fluttered across his lips and cheeks and jaw. It was sweet in a way it couldn't have been when they'd first acted on what was between them. Their pace turned frantic, as always, and when she shattered he followed soon after, clutching her like she was his tether to the real world. His face was buried in her neck as he basked in the aftermath. Her pulse raced against his lips, her heart against his chest. He wanted every time to feel like this and every time only with her.

'You are amazing, Shepard,' he whispered against her neck and she laughed. It had a disbelieving edge to it like she was unused to compliments, which was ridiculous since he'd heard people compliment her before and she responded with a laugh that said she knew exactly how amazing she was. He let it go. They had a lot of issues but they could talk when there wasn't a whole night cycle ahead of them and a week of making up to do.

He rolled them over, slipping from her warmth to shuck the rest of his clothes. She watched him with hooded eyes, a sly little smile on her face even as satiation softened her usually hard expression. 'So… are you gonna make good on the other ways you've imagined getting me to shut my mouth?'

James grinned, crawling up the bed while planting kisses along her flushed skin until he murmured in her ear, 'At least twice.'

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A/N: I did write an extra chapter set during and after the destroy ending, but it was bittersweet and for once I just want these two to close on a happy note. I hope you enjoyed this dance I made Shepard and James go through :) If you liked it, please consider leaving a review!


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